


Little Whispers

by Bramadian0336



Category: BlacKkKlansman (2018)
Genre: 1970s, Abduction, Adam Driver Fandom - Freeform, Disturbing Themes, Eventual Smut, F/M, Horror, Mild Gore, Mystery, Psychological Drama, Serial Killers, Slow To Update, Smut, Stalking, Survival Horror, Suspense, Thriller, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:14:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26534926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bramadian0336/pseuds/Bramadian0336
Summary: Elizabeth assumes they are just prank calls, annoying but harmless. But then the caller promises he’s done something special, something just for her. A body is found the next day. When more turn up, it is undeniable: There’s a serial killer in Colorado Springs. Elizabeth is brought in to photograph his crimes, and she realizes the women all bear a startling resemblance to her. Can she help Flip find the murderer, before she becomes his next victim?
Relationships: Flip Zimmerman/Original Female Character(s), Flip Zimmerman/Reader, Flip Zimmerman/You
Comments: 9
Kudos: 57





	1. Chapter 1

**Colorado Springs, 1973**

It’s early enough in the morning that the sun is still hiding behind the trees when Elizabeth pulls up to the apartments. They’re little brick two-story units arranged in a square, and she circles the parking lot until she spots the police cruisers. She pulls up, putting her car in park and getting out. There’s a chill creeping into the air with the changing of the seasons, enough to help her wake up fully.

Elizabeth rounds the car to get her camera bag out of the trunk, hefting it onto her shoulder. She can see the uniformed officers across from the parking lot. They’re in a field behind the apartment complex, along the tree line. Yellow tape moves in the wind, her focus caught by it as she makes her way through the sparse grass. The chief is there, along with two detectives. His presence reaffirms what she’d already been suspecting: this wasn’t an ordinary case.

She doesn’t quite get close enough to hear what they’re discussing before one of the uniforms stops her. Elizabeth recognizes him as one of their newer officers, but can’t quite remember his name. She’s terrible with names, though he seems to know hers.

“Liz, right?” he asks. His face looks pale, like the blood has drained from his skin.

She pauses to raise her eyebrows questioningly. “Yes?”

“I uh…He told me to warn you. The chief, I mean,” he clarifies. “He said we can get someone else to do it, if um… it’s going to be too much for you.”

She swallows against the embarrassment this offer triggers. It is no secret to her that the chief disproves of a woman filling a position like this. He’d made his opinion known on multiple occasions that the fairer sex shouldn’t be exposed to the things she was called in to photograph regularly. She’d only gotten the job when their last photographer had a heart attack, and no one else in the department had a camera handy. She had her own professional model camera, and had somehow managed to keep the position ever since.

“I’ll be okay,” Elizabeth tries to reassure him. “I figured when I got the call it was the boy who went missing yesterday…”

The officer nods, dropping his gaze. “Yeah. It’s him.”

She waits for a moment, but he doesn’t say anything else. Elizabeth gives him an awkward nod before continuing on, ducking beneath the tape that’s been strung between two trunks. She steps carefully, frowning when her eyes land on the shallow grave. There isn’t much dirt piled up around it, and when she peers in, she sees that the hole is barely deeper than a foot.

Elizabeth avoids looking at the body while she fumbles to get her camera free from the shoulder bag. For some reason, it always feels less jarring to look through the lens. Almost like the camera provides some barrier between her and the horrible truth on the other side. But her mind is already running, the shallowness of the grave troubling her.

Anyone from the area knew there were a lot of natural predators around. It wouldn’t take much for a coyote, or something larger, to dig up the body. They’re pretty far from downtown, closer to the mountains than the center of Colorado Springs. Wouldn’t the guilty party be concerned about a wild animal revealing their crimes? Why not dig deeper?

Elizabeth takes a deep breath, trying to focus. She needs to get the pictures and go get them developed, not meander in her own mind. She gets to work, taking in the scene through the lens. It’s a small grave, holding the body of the 2-year-old boy who had been reported missing just the day before. His mother had been on every local news station, hysterically sobbing and begging for his return. Elizabeth bites her lip, trying her hardest to not be emotional as she looks at his small face. She needs her hands to stay steady.

But there’s something unusual that she can’t tune out. Whoever buried the boy had wrapped him first in a blanket, and then in some sort of thick, clear plastic bag. She lowers the camera, unable to focus as she pinpoints just why that bothers her so much… She can’t help the idea that emerges in her brain, as sad and unpleasant as she might find it.

“What are you thinking?”

She jerks at the voice, startled to realize someone is right beside her. Elizabeth looks up to see one of the detectives has approached. As bad as she is with names, she immediately knows his. She’s seen him around, though they haven’t spoken before. Detective Zimmerman is his name, but the others call him Flip. He’s a big guy, a Vietnam vet. Good looking, and she would be intimidated by him if it weren’t for his easygoing attitude. He has a self-assured, laidback confidence that she begrudgingly finds attractive.

“I’m sorry,” she rushes to apologize. They’re all undoubtedly waiting on her to finish so they can proceed, and here she is staring off into space. “I’ll finish up, I didn’t mean to waste time.”

“You never stick around this long at a scene. And you look like you have something on your mind,” he says, his eyes leaving hers to trail over to the terrible sight before them. “Care to share?”

Elizabeth licks her lips nervously, half worried he might be mocking her. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s been made a joke of on the job, for either her looks or daring to share her ideas. It wasn’t as bad when she was just a stenographer, as most of the men expected a young woman in the office. But it had gotten worse since she’d stumbled into her new role.

“How he was buried, it just…seems all wrong,” she admits finally, after an uncomfortably long pause.

“Wrong how?” Flip presses, his eyes finding hers again. His expression is quite serious, reassuring her that perhaps he isn’t pulling her leg. She drops the camera gently, letting it hang from the strap around her neck.

“Well they barely dug down at all… And they put him right here, behind his home,” Elizabeth says tentatively. “It’s almost like they wanted him to be found fast.”

She darts a nervous glance at him to see his face turn thoughtful. She rushes to finish her thoughts before he dismisses her entirely and she loses the opportunity. “The way he’s wrapped up… It reminds me of how we buried my dog when I was a kid,” she says.

Flip’s eyebrows quirk up at that, and she feels her cheeks warm with an embarrassed flush as she fumbles to explain. “What I mean is, it looks like whoever buried him loved him. They wrapped him in a blanket so he wouldn’t be cold, and the plastic to keep him clean…”

His eyes narrow as he stares at the grave, and Elizabeth notices he’s chewing at the inside of his lip. He turns his head, looking back towards the apartment buildings behind them. “And what does that make you think?” he wonders.

She’s taken aback that he wants her to keep talking. Flip looks over and seems to notice the doubt on her face. He gives her a slight nod. “Go on,” he encourages.

“Well…I may have listened to the 911 recording yesterday…” she admits. “I thought it was weird that the mom used the word kidnapped.”

“Why is that weird?” Flip asks.

“If I had a little boy who went missing, I’d be hoping for the best. I’d hope he ran off, that he’s just lost… Or I’d say he disappeared, and I don’t know where he is. Anything but kidnapped,” Elizabeth tries to explain, shrugging. “But she said, right away, that he was kidnapped, and kept repeating it. Like she was immediately believing the worst. I guess I’d be wanting to avoid thinking that, to deny that it’s a possibility.”

Flip looks lost in thought and more than a little sleepy, staring at the little boy. Elizabeth isn’t sure if she should say anything else, feeling nervous at his proximity. But he speaks up finally, shaking himself from his reverie. “I’ll let you finish up,” he says.

She watches him retreat for a moment, still looking stuck in his own mind. Then she hurries to finish, before walking quickly back to her car. It’ll be a quick drive to the crime lab office, right next to the police department. Then she can get started on developing the film.

**That Afternoon**

Elizabeth worked a little too fast in the dark room, getting copies back to the department and keeping her own set. She’s done early in the afternoon, which means she now has a stack of reports to work on transcribing. The crime lab budget isn’t huge, and nearly everyone who works in it pulls double or triple duty. The clerical work isn’t the most exciting, but they could hardly justify paying her a full-time salary if she did nothing but the photography.

She’s lost in her work when someone sits a coffee cup down in front of her. Elizabeth looks up, spotting Flip Zimmerman’s face. “Oh-thank you,” she says immediately, surprised.

He gives her a friendly smile. “Figured you had an early morning and could use it.”

She takes a small sip, pleased at the taste. It’s much better than what comes out of their ancient percolator. “This is way better than our coffee,” she muses. “Ours always tastes like burnt toast.”

He laughs a little, and she likes the sound. Elizabeth looks away, forcing her own lips to relax so she isn’t smiling like a sappy idiot. The last thing she needs is for it to be apparent she’s got eyes for one of the detectives. Even if he does make her feel like a middle schooler with a crush. Flip snags one of the chairs from along the wall with his boot, dragging it by the leg until it’s in front of her desk.

“We probably have better breakfast, too,” he admits, dropping down to sit in the chair.

She furrows her eyebrows. “You guys get breakfast?”

“Donuts from Murph’s,” he explains. She makes a disgruntled face, more than a little jealous at that, and his lips quirk in a grin.

“Lucky. I could go for a bear claw,” she admits. “Anyway, can I help you with something?”

“I’m thinking about doing another interview with the mother,” Flip explains. “I think you might be onto something with what you said earlier.”

Surprised, she stutters, “R-really?” Then she promptly blushes hearing how squeaky her voice came out. She’s relatively sure that serious, professional women don’t squeak and stutter. 

Flip leans forward, his demeanor becoming business like. “She’s a single mom. Young. Stuck at home with the kid instead of out having fun with the rest of her friends,” he muses. “Probably having a hard time finding a guy or making bills. I wouldn’t have suspected her so soon, but you were right about the body.”

“I was?” Elizabeth asks.

“Kidnappers either do it for money or because they’re a sicko,” he says plainly. “She doesn’t have any money, and if it were some nut with a screw loose, he wouldn’t have buried him that way. That was loving.”

She feels a strange sort of pride for a moment. Despite the horrible circumstances, she’s never had someone actually consider her ideas with any sort of seriousness. Flip’s confirmation feels like a validation, but she’s sure there has to be another reason for his visit.

“Well… I’m glad I could…be of assistance, but I’m not sure…?” she trails off awkwardly, and swallows nervously when his brown eyes land on hers.

“I wanted your advice,” Flip admits. “I can usually get into the perp’s head pretty well, but… I feel like maybe you’ve got a better handle on this. What’s gonna get to her? What might make her open up?”

Elizabeth has to look away, having a hard time maintaining eye contact. For being a relatively relaxed guy, he sure did enjoy staring straight into someone’s soul. She considers what he’s asked for a minute before venturing to answer.

“I guess… I’d talk about how hard it must be to be a single mother. To do it all herself, and how obvious it is that she loved her son. To make all those sacrifices, to miss out on everything for him. Really sympathize with her,” she suggests timidly, before shrugging. “Also, the blanket’s been cleared from fiber analysis.”

His eyes narrow with intrigue. “The blanket?”

“The one he was wrapped in? If you really think she might have done this… Put it on the interview table. Have it there when she walks in, right in front of where she’ll sit.”

Flip leans back, his eyebrows shooting up with surprise. “…That’s cold,” he comments before taking a deep breath. “But I see your angle.”

Elizabeth rushes to backtrack. “I mean, if you don’t think it’s a good idea-I have no experience with any of this,” she admits. “I’m just the photographer.”

“Don’t undersell yourself,” he insists. “I don’t think it’s a bad idea. I’m just going to feel like a jerk if we’re barking up the wrong tree here.” He gives her a wry grin before standing. “Thanks, Liz.”

She contains her smile at the sound of him saying her name. “No problem,” she assures.

**The Following Morning**

The next day, Elizabeth arrives at her desk to find coffee and a bear claw waiting for her. This time, she doesn’t bother containing her smile. She looks around, spotting her coworker John at his desk on the other side of the office. He looks overwhelmed behind stacks of paperwork, but she can’t help herself.

“Did you see who dropped this off?” she asks curiously. Maybe Flip had been hoping to run into her and missed her, she thinks. But John shakes his head.

“No,” he answers, before he gives her a suspicious look. “Why are you smiling like that?”

Elizabeth wipes the expression off her face. “Oh. No reason,” she replies quickly, sitting down to let him get back to his work. She tries to get started herself, nibbling at the pastry while she works.

Around lunch time, news spreads through the department that there was a break in the case. The mother had confessed, quite quickly in fact. Though attempts were made to contain the details, it is all over the news before her shift is over. It’s a case that’s sensational, shocking for most people to consider happening in their community. She doesn’t feel nearly as surprised as everyone else, saddened instead that her hunch was correct.

Elizabeth lingers a bit longer than necessary at 5 o’clock, half hoping a certain detective might stop by once more. But eventually she has to accept that little deflated feeling and head home. There is no reason to think their talking was anything more than a professional discussion. She feels a bit foolish as she gathers her things, grabbing up her car keys. It isn’t like she can date someone from her workplace anyway. She has a hard enough time being taken seriously, she doesn’t need to add fuel to the fire.

**That Night**

She’s already in bed, balled up to get warm beneath the sheets. It’s the first cold night of fall, and she isn’t used to it after the late heat spell of the last few weeks. It doesn’t help that the heater in her apartment never seems to reach the bedroom.

Elizabeth is just drifting off when the phone rings. It startles her awake, and she shoves herself upright before she can fully wake up. She staggers out of bed and towards the kitchen, blinking in the harsh light when she clicks the overhead light on. When she snatches the receiver off the wall, she answers in a disgruntled tone.

“Hello?”

Silence greets her ears, and she blinks slowly with annoyance. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

She frowns when she hears someone breathing. They’re breathing fast and shallow. “Who is this?” she demands.

“Shh, shh.” Whoever is on the other end shushes her, and she narrows her eyes.

“Go to hell,” Elizabeth snaps, hanging up the phone. She smacks the light off and goes back to bed, waiting for a while for the phone to ring again. People pulling pranks were usually persistent, and she was more than ready to disconnect the phone line if it meant getting to sleep. But luckily, they don’t call back, and she gets to stay in bed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Weeks Later**

The prank calls continue, in a somewhat predictable fashion. Every few nights her phone will ring, usually around 11 pm. Sometimes the caller will just breathe, each exhale making her cringe against the receiver. Other times he shushes her when she gets angry, before she inevitably hangs up on him. He never calls back after she’s hung up, sticking to a single call at a time.

Elizabeth contemplates disconnecting the phone line from the wall, but she doesn’t want to miss it if work calls. If they need her at a scene, she has to be there as quickly as possible. The last thing she wants is to give anyone above her an excuse to remove her from the job, back to only desk work.

The calls are starting to grate on her nerves, however. So much that she’s in half a daze thinking about them as she pulls into the parking lot one Friday morning. She’s barely looking where she’s going as she walks across the lot, almost running into Flip at the door.

“Hey, good morning!” he greets, his thick voice suggesting he’s just as sleepy as she feels.

“Good morning,” she replies, awkwardly pausing as he opens the door for her, nodding for her to pass through first.

“How are you?” he asks.

“I’m…okay,” Elizabeth answers, mentally kicking herself over the pause in her reply.

Flip picks up on it immediately, his tired eyes scanning her with concern. “Okay okay? Or not okay, but saying you’re okay?”

She drops her gaze to answer, unable to maintain eye contact with him while lying. She’d never been a good liar, and Flip seems to have the kind of gaze that can read people entirely too easily. She pities anyone that ends up on the opposite side of an interrogation table from him.

“I’m fine,” she insists, but then she notices something is off with his flannel. One untucked side is hanging lower than the other. “Um-I think you misbuttoned your shirt?”

Flip looks down, before groaning. “Ah, shit.”

Elizabeth tries to muffle her laugh for his sake, but he grins with self-deprecation. “I’m not the most functional in the mornings,” he remarks.

“Who is?” she offers, as he begins undoing the buttons to try to fix them, exposing the plain white undershirt beneath.

“I don’t trust morning people. They’re suspicious,” he jokes, yawning as he fumbles with his clothing. Elizabeth tries to look around so she isn’t just staring at him, hoping her attraction to him isn’t completely obvious. Her eyes flicker to his left hand, devoid of a wedding band. But that means nothing, really. He could have a girlfriend or fiancé, and lots of men don’t wear their ring to work.

She realizes she’s zoned out staring at his hands while he shoves the last button through its hole, and looks down at her keychain to fiddle with it instead.

“Did you-did you need something?” she ventures curiously. “I don’t normally catch you in here in the morning.”

“Yeah,” Flip confirms. “Just a new copy of a crime scene report. Some jackass used mine for a coaster.”

“Oh! I could get it for you,” she offers quickly. While it wasn’t technically part of the job, most of the other detectives expected her or one of the other girls to maneuver the filing system for them. Though they never bothered John, leaving him to his little overflowing desk in the corner.

But Flip gives her an easy grin, shrugging her off. “Nah, I’m sure you’ve got enough on your plate for today. I can manage. Thanks, though.”

“Oh, okay,” Elizabeth says, giving him a small smile back. They part ways, as she goes to her desk and Flip heads into the cluttered records storage. She shrugs her coat off, eyes scanning her desktop. It’s obvious someone’s been perusing through her things, as nothing is where she’d left it. Perhaps some uniform looking for something, and too lazy to ask for assistance.

She sits down, gritting her teeth with irritation at the mess they’d left. It takes her several minutes to reorganize her workspace before she can get started. She tries to focus, but part of her mind is fixated on the door to the records room. Flip still hasn’t reemerged, leading her to conclude that he’s doing more than just grabbing a new copy.

Whatever he’s doing, he clearly hadn’t wanted to explain. Not that he owes her an explanation, but Elizabeth can’t help but feel a bit curious. She’d love to be a detective, to be able to actually work on the cases she sees glimpses of through her camera. But it’s most certainly a pipe dream. She’s never heard of female detectives, at least not anywhere near Colorado Springs. The closest their town came to female officers is the parking meter maids that ticketed cars parked illegally.

She’s finally able to focus on her work when Flip emerges nearly a half hour later, a single manila folder in his hand. He gives her a small nod as he exits, and she gives an awkward little wave back. Elizabeth waits until the door swings closed behind him to recline back in her chair, groaning with irritation at herself. All of the men in the world, and she had to pick lumberjack-looking, probably unavailable Detective Zimmerman to get a crush on.

**Lunch Time**

Kathy stops by on her lunch break, and Elizabeth knows immediately that it can’t be a good thing. Kathy is the very chatty dispatcher who, despite meaning well, has been relentless about setting her up on a date. She’s been very happily dating the same boyfriend since high school, and seems unable to accept that Elizabeth is woefully single. She plops down on the chair across from Elizabeth, a hopeful smile on her face.

“It’s another incredibly suitable bachelor, isn’t it?” Elizabeth asks with dread.

Kathy’s smile broadens. “Just hear me out on this one-” she ignores the moan of frustration. “He’s in finance, he went to _Stanford_ , and you know that bank down on the corner of Cimarron and Cascade? His dad _owns_ the entire-”

“I really appreciate you trying to help, Kathy,” Elizabeth tries to interrupt politely. “Really, but none of these matches ever seem to work out.”

“This one is different from the last,” she insists.

“You said that about the last one.”

Kathy blinks before giving an exasperated sigh. “The last one was bogue, I’m sorry. But I swear this one is great! He’s very funny-didn’t you say you like funny guys? Very chill, too, and smart! You’ll have so much to talk about together, you know?”

She takes a second to prepare her excuse. “Kath, I just am so busy with work right now-”

Unfortunately, the peppy dispatcher sees right through that, rolling her eyes. “All the more reason to come out tonight. He’s a friend of Jack’s, his name’s Todd. He’s meeting us to grab dinner and a few drinks. Just stop by? You can meet him and if you aren’t feeling it, I won’t push it.”

Elizabeth tries her best to ignore the pleading look on Kathy’s face, and the way her eyebrows arch ever higher with suspended excitement. But she ends up caving, partially to make the other woman happy. Kathy’s one of the only friends she’s managed to make since moving to town, and maybe Todd would end up being a nice guy. Worst case scenario, it would give her something to do on a Friday night other than retreat back to her apartment for a night alone.

“Fine,” she concedes. “I’ll stop by and meet him.”

Kathy gives a squeal of success, and Elizabeth smiles. Her excitement is contagious, and it gives her a little boost to get through the rest of a day that is otherwise dragging.

**5 pm**

Elizabeth is still fighting to pull her coat on while she walks out towards her car, the air now undeniably cold. The temperature has dropped off recently as the leaves change their shades. Though it is pretty, it only means winter is on the way. She’s learned to expect a short fall is typical in the area, a snow storm sometimes arriving before Halloween.

She can vaguely tell that something is wrong as she gets closer to her car, but it takes her brain a minute to pinpoint what exactly is off. When she spots it, she comes to a stop, face falling. The front left tire is completely flat.

“How?” she asks, in complete disbelief. The tire had been fine on her drive in that morning, hadn’t it? She surely would have noticed if it was going flat… Elizabeth crosses the last few feet to her car, squatting down to examine the wheel. She must have picked up a nail driving in that morning, because it is completely shot.

Luckily, she knows the spare is in the trunk. She rounds the car, opening the trunk and the compartment that holds the spare. Once upon a time, she’d known how to change out the wheel. It had been a mandatory task to pass her driver’s training class. But it’s been years since driver’s training and she now finds herself hesitating, struggling to recall.

Elizabeth tries to give herself a mental pep talk. It should all come back to her once she gets going. She fishes out the scissor jack, before looking at the piece of equipment with uncertainty. She knows it lifts the car up, but where does the thing even go underneath? She huffs a sigh, realizing she’s going to have to get down on the pavement and look under the car to see if it will trigger her memory.

“Everything alright?”

Flip’s paused on his way across the lot to leave work, his curious gaze dropping down to what she’s holding. “You got a flat?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she admits.

He comes over, giving a low whistle at the sight of the tire. “Well, let’s get that swapped out,” he says, making his way towards her trunk. She frowns when he grabs the cross wrench from it and kneels down next to her car. Flip gets to work on loosening the lug nuts while she just stands there, feeling mortified.

Elizabeth fidgets, cursing her luck. Out of all the people who could’ve been leaving work right then and seen her struggling to fix her car, it had to be Flip Zimmerman. She’s bothered that he just jumped right in to do it for her. She hadn’t meant to inconvenience him, or to stand around giving the impression she was helpless. But he seems to have assumed she couldn’t do it for herself, and she hates that.

“I can figure it out, you don’t have to…” she tries to say, trailing off.

Flip pauses to look up, shoving a stray lock of hair from out of his face. His eyes scan over her expression, reading her before he replies.

“I know you would’ve figured it out,” he assures, and his tone suggests he means it. “But my old man would’ve kicked my ass all the way back home if I hadn’t helped a lady with car trouble. I managed to forget most of what he taught me, but that… that stuck. Sorry.”

He gives her a disarming grin, and she can’t help but smile back. He holds her gaze for a moment, long enough that she feels nerves start to jump in her belly. But then he looks down to get back to work with the wrench, and she’s left wondering if she’d just imagined that flirty spark in his eyes.

Elizabeth hovers around uncertainly, impressed by the artful way Flip wields curse words while working the jack. Apparently, any lessons on not swearing from his father hadn’t stuck nearly as well. She enjoys it, in a strange way. Most of the men in the department will try to watch their mouths around the women, or at the very least give an apologetic look if something slips out. It doesn’t even seem to occur to Flip to filter his language, and she finds it entertaining.

When he’s got the new wheel on, he sits back on the pavement to examine the old. Elizabeth picks up the tools, putting them away in an attempt to be useful.

“Did you piss anyone off lately?” he asks suddenly.

“What!?” she asks, surprised. Flip’s staring down at the tire, his brows creased with concentration. He turns it around so she can see whatever he’s noticed.

“The leak is in the sidewall,” he points out. Elizabeth crouches down to see where he’s pointing, noticing a one-inch long gash in the smooth rubber on the side of the tire.

“What-how did that happen?” she asks, confused. He shrugs.

“I guess maybe if there was something sharp up against the curb, that could’ve done it,” he offers. “Try to not drive too far to the right, you’ll pick up a lot of shit off the road that way.”

Elizabeth frowns with concern however, staring at the gash. It looks so neat, that mark in the rubber. “You think…You think someone could have done it on purpose, though?”

Flip stands, his warm gaze reassuring. “Either you hit something in the road, or some kid has an issue with police and picked any car outside the department to mess with. I’m sure it’s nothing targeted at you.”

She nods, but the frown seems to cling onto her lips persistently. Perhaps the prank calls have her too worked up, but she feels paranoid. Flip puts the old tire into her trunk, shutting it for her. Her unease must still be obvious, because he steps a little closer, his hand coming to rest gently on her shoulder. Elizabeth tries to not gulp when he leans down a bit, catching her eyes.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have put that in your head,” he says. “Don’t worry, okay? Were you around last March, when someone covered Landers’ car with bologna?”

Elizabeth grins, recalling it immediately. She’d never liked Landers, not since she overheard him talking about her ass as if it was sitting in a meat case at the deli. “The temperature dropped and it all froze onto the paint,” she replies.

Flip smiles conspiratorially. “That might have been a bad example,” he admits. “He probably had that coming. Point is, people fuck with cars parked by stations. I doubt they even knew it wasn’t a cop’s car.”

She nods, because he does have a point. It’s a reasonable enough explanation that she’s able to let go of her paranoia. She would relax, if it weren’t for the fact that Flip is much closer to her than he’s ever been before. Elizabeth notices his hand is still lingering at her shoulder, lightly, his eyes holding onto hers. He’s got a steadiness to him, a feeling she can pick up on easily. But this close, it makes her heart race.

“You’re probably right,” she agrees softly. Should she say something else? He’s still looking at her quite intently, and she feels certain she isn’t imagining it this time. There’s definitely something in how he’s waiting, and a spark of hope lights up in her chest.

“Hey, hot stuff! You still coming?”

Elizabeth tears her eyes away from Flip’s at the sound of her friend calling to her. She sees Kathy approaching, a teasing grin on her face. She seems entirely oblivious that she has the worst timing ever to be interrupting. Kathy pauses when she gets to her own car, propping a hand on her hip. When Elizabeth doesn’t answer quickly enough, she rolls her eyes with exasperation.

“Come on, we don’t want to keep the boys waiting!” Kathy insists loudly.

Flip immediately retreats. “Sorry, I don’t mean to keep you when you’ve got plans,” he apologizes quickly.

“No, it’s okay, she just invited me out,” Elizabeth rushes to explain. “It’s nothing.”

“Have a good weekend,” he says, pulling a pack of cigarettes from a pocket. “Have a beer, and don’t worry about the tire, okay?”

She forces a small smile, feeling defeated. “Yeah, okay. You have a good weekend, too.”

When she’s settled into the driver’s seat of her car, she watches Flip light up as he walks away. She lets her head fall back to the head rest, a bit dramatically. What if he now thinks she has a boyfriend? She should’ve said something, anything to make it obvious she’d have much rather continued talking to him. But she isn’t very good with flirting, especially not with men she’s actually attracted to. Nerves always seem to shut down her brain and lock up her tongue.

A car horn blares, and Elizabeth looks to see Kathy pulled up in back of her. She’s leaning out of the driver’s side window.

“Come on, pretty lady! Move it!” Kathy shouts, before cackling with amusement and hitting the gas. Elizabeth watches her car circle around to the drive and pull out, huffing a sigh of irritation. She contemplates just going home. But she knows she’ll never hear the end of it from Kathy if she ditches, and starts her car up, dutifully following her friend out of the parking lot.


	3. Chapter 3

**Sunday Evening**

Elizabeth thought things had gone well with Todd. He may not be exactly her type, perhaps a bit too clean cut and conservative. Her parents would probably approve. But he seemed friendly enough, and was just as funny as Kathy had said. He’d even asked for her phone number before they’d parted ways Friday evening.

But Saturday and most of Sunday went by without a phone call, and she’s beginning to assume he isn’t interested. It wouldn’t be the first time she scared off one of Kathy’s guys. She would probably have better luck if she said nothing at all, and sat there smiling.

Just when she’s accepting the blind date was a dud, the phone rings. Elizabeth jumps up from the couch where she’d been reading and hurries into the kitchen. The ringing renews her hope that perhaps, finally, she’s found success with a man.

“Hello?”

Silence meets her ears, and Elizabeth’s heart immediately sinks. She darts a glance at the wall clock, realizing it is quarter to eleven. That makes it her mystery prank caller’s favorite time to bother her. She hadn’t realized it was so late, otherwise she might have known it wasn’t Todd. Her grip tightens on the receiver, ready to hang up.

“Hello?” Elizabeth tries one last time.

She hears him breathing, but something is different this time. His exhales are rushed, louder. He sounds like he’s panting, like someone that’s been running or crying. She pulls her ear away from the phone slightly, goosebumps blooming on her skin.

“What do you want?” she asks quietly. “Why are you always calling me?”

“Why did you do that, Elizabeth?”

The goosebumps multiply at the sound of his voice, unnaturally distorted. Even the strange mechanical tone can’t conceal that he sounds upset, his question coming out like an accusation. She swallows hard, taken aback.

“You always do this,” he continues, breathing noisily. “But it’s okay-it’s okay, I made it okay.”

“What are you talking about?” she manages to ask. “Who are-”

“Shh!” he shushes her harshly. “Shh. I did something for you.”

Elizabeth is too creeped out to try speaking again, trying to keep her own panicked breath from echoing into the phone. Her skin is crawling, the sensation of eyes on her making her whirl around to check that her blinds are in fact closed.

He continues on, some of the hysterical energy leaving his voice. “I did something special. It’s a present, just for you. You’ll see.”

He hangs up on her. She’s left listening to the harsh buzz of the dial tone. He’s never been the one to hang up on her, and for a moment she just stands there in shock. Then she finally moves, hanging up the receiver and trying to take a deep breath. She follows it with another, letting herself lean back against the edge of her kitchen counter.

It had to be some random, crazy person. He could have gotten her name and number from the phone book, and for whatever reason decided to babble his nonsense to her. He was probably a creep who had nothing better to do than call up women who were listed alone. She realizes she may have even fed into it. Maybe he kept calling because he enjoyed getting a rise out of her.

Elizabeth decides right then that she should change her number. She’ll have to call the phone company in the morning and arrange for it.

She has a hard time getting rid of the on-edge feeling the call gave her, despite deciding on a solution. When she crawls into bed, the goosebumps return as she thinks about what he said. But she’s positive it’s nonsense. She hasn’t done anything to anyone, certainly nothing to merit creepy phone calls. Elizabeth struggles to fall asleep, her mind continuing to cycle over the same thoughts.

She gets up to turn the hallway light on outside her bedroom door, partially illuminating her apartment. It doesn’t help much. By the time she settles down enough to fall asleep, there’s only a few hours left before her alarm will go off.

**Monday Morning**

Elizabeth has never been this late to work before. She drives fast enough that she deserves a bucket full of tickets, and is still nearly an hour late by the time she jumps out of her car. She attempts to rake her hair back into a ponytail when she crosses the lot, the temperature frigid. It’s cold enough that her fingers don’t want to cooperate, and she gives up.

Two of the crime lab employees, Michael and John, are conferring over something when she walks in. Both men give her a questioning look, so she leaves the irritated scowl on her face. It’s successful in deterring them from saying anything about her tardiness. They go back to bickering about fingerprints in low voices.

She drops into her seat, shuffling reports around on her desk top until she has to stop. Her mind is a scattered mess, and she attempts to settle herself. Before she begins prioritizing the work that has mysteriously appeared for her over the weekend, she needs coffee.

Elizabeth shuffles into the filing room, grateful to find a half pot already brewed and waiting. She pours herself a very full cup, before reaching for the sugar. When she tips the container, nothing comes out. Apparently, no one thought to mention they were out of sweetener. She sighs, resigning herself to drinking it black.

“Late night?”

She jumps at the voice, sloshing very hot coffee down her hand and nearly dropping the cup. Elizabeth whirls to see Officer Landers standing amongst the filing cabinets. He’s got a drawer pulled open, and he grins at the sight of her startled face.

“Oh, yeah, someone’s sleepy. Did you have a hot date?” he asks, sitting whatever he’d been looking at on the open drawer.

“N-no,” she stutters, taken aback. She hadn’t even noticed him there, and now she wishes she had waited to come in here. Landers is her least favorite officer, and she’d rather not be alone with him.

“No? Hot thing like you, I can’t imagine why else you’d look so tired on a Monday morning,” he drawls, smile turning taunting.

Elizabeth swallows hard, uncomfortable immediately. She searches for a way to change topics, quickly. “Can I help you find something? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here before,” she says, gesturing around the cluttered records.

“I needed something twenty minutes ago, but you were late. Had to come get it for myself,” Landers snaps, implying it was a huge inconvenience. He shoves the drawer rougher than necessary, making sure it bangs closed.

Elizabeth freezes when he comes near, headed for the exit. He stops, letting his eyes drop down from her face. She sets her jaw when his glance lingers with intentional obviousness at her chest. She isn’t dressed revealing, but he ogles her like a cat that’s cornered a mouse.

“You better watch out. Just ‘cause you’re nice to look at, don’t mean they won’t fire you for slacking,” he mentions. When he finally looks up again, she makes sure to stare right back into his eyes, unblinking. He quirks an eyebrow, and for one moment she worries her defiance will make him up the ante. But then Landers turns, strolling out the door. Elizabeth hears the front door slam shut a moment later, and she deflates with relief.

**Late Afternoon**

Kathy stops by at the end of her shift, an expectant smile on her face. “So? Did Todd call?” she asks. “Tell me you’ve got a date lined up.”

“Todd didn’t call,” Elizabeth replies bluntly.

Kathy’s smile falls, and she lets herself drop into a chair. “Ugh,” she complains. “I thought it was going well.”

“So did I…”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have explained your job,” the other woman says thoughtfully. “He looked a little shocked when you said you photograph dead bodies.”

Elizabeth narrows her eyes. “He asked what I do for the department. And I didn’t _just_ say I photograph dead bodies, I mentioned other stuff too.”

“Next time you should just say, you know… secretarial stuff. That sounds better,” Kathy points out.

“You want me to lie?” she retorts. Her friend makes a face.

“It’s not lying, it’s just…sugar coating,” she insists.

“It doesn’t matter,” Elizabeth sighs. “There isn’t going to be another time. I always manage to say something wrong, so what’s the point?”

“Don’t be like that-”

“I’m not being like anything,” she insists stubbornly.

Kathy retaliates with a roll of her eyes, dropping it for now. They both know she’ll bide her time, until another friend of a friend comes along. Then she’ll be back at it, nagging Elizabeth to try again.

“Are you leaving? I’m going to grab some dinner,” Kathy says. “You could come along?”

“No, I’m staying. I was late this morning, so I want to make up the time,” she explains.

They say their goodbyes, and Elizabeth gets back to work. But she doesn’t get very far when the phone rings, startling her. One of the lights on the cradle is lit up, indicating it’s an extension within the department. She leans over to grab it. “Hello?”

“Liz? It’s Ann.”

Ann is another one of the department’s receptionists, usually the one on night shifts since her husband also works late. Elizabeth can tell something is happening by Ann’s voice, some kind of emotion bringing it up in pitch from her usual tone.

“What’s wrong?” she asks quickly.

“They need you at a scene,” Ann explains. “It’s-Liz, it’s really bad. I-I overheard them talking and-I think it’s bad. It’s a girl, someone found her body dumped.”

“Okay.” Elizabeth’s hand flies over the desk, searching for a scrap of paper to scribble on. “Do you have the address?”

She writes it down quickly, reassuring Ann that she’ll be okay. She’s seen a fair share of horrifying things in her short time doing this job, but tries to steel herself anyway. Elizabeth makes sure to grab some of the accessories for her camera from under her desk, particularly since the sun will be setting by the time she gets to the address.

The drive across town is quiet, the sky darkened with angry, bluish-black clouds. The address is somewhere in the area zoned for manufacturing, and she passes warehouses and factories while looking for the correct road. She knows she’s in the right place when she sees a swarm of police vehicles and the coroner’s van.

Elizabeth isn’t expecting the news vans, however. The police tape is set up pretty close to the road, a line of uniformed officers toeing it to keep the reporters back. She parks far enough back to avoid their notice, gathering her equipment quickly and approaching the tape. Some of the reporters try speaking to her, but she keeps her eyes focused on the nearest officer, grateful when he recognizes her without question.

He directs her far back, into a vacant lot between two large, dilapidated warehouses. The pavement is cracked and crumbling apart, so she watches where she steps. Dry, prickly weeds are growing through the fissures, retaking the lot from disintegrating asphalt.

Someone’s already set up lights at the scene. Perhaps the coroner, who she can make out behind the cluster of uniforms and detectives. Nearly everyone is there, even guys she knows for a fact were off today. Her nerves start to fray a little when she gets close enough to see their faces. Each one’s expression drives the point home: this is bad. These seasoned men are shaken by whatever they’ve seen, which is not an easy feat.

When he spots her, the chief splits from the group to head her off. “I got a call in to the neighboring precinct,” he tells her. “We might be able to get their photographer out here.”

She resists the urge to make an exasperated face at the suggestion. Messing around with getting a different photographer will just delay the entire process, and she can’t believe he’d even suggest it. Elizabeth tries to keep her tone polite when she answers him.

“That will take too long, Sir. And I’m already here. I can handle it,” she insists.

His head immediately begins shaking. “Elizabeth-It’s Elizabeth, right? This isn’t something I’d want my daughter, or hell, my own mother seeing. If we can get someone else-”

“The longer we waste time, the longer we delay the coroner getting important evidence off that body. Sir,” Elizabeth interjects, trying to rearrange her face into something apologetic. “If you want to replace me, please do it when it’s a little less time sensitive.”

His eyebrows shoot up with incredulity at her response, his lips first parting before he then twists his mouth to the side. She holds her breath, knowing she’s probably crossed a line and come off disrespectful. He certainly doesn’t look pleased. But then he takes a deep breath and gives her a nod.

“Alright. I just-I hate for you to see this,” he mutters.

He gestures back, towards where the coroner is kneeling, and Elizabeth follows him. They dodge around the officers, who have arranged themselves to block the view from the reporters at the road. Their low voices are murmurs only, a couple splitting off towards the edges of the lot as they pass by.

Her pulse picks up, and she fumbles with her camera bag. She suddenly wants the camera in her hands, to look through the lens. But it’s too late for that, and the grotesque scene hits her with a raw realism. It isn’t a girl as Ann had said, but rather a young woman.

Her eyes catch Elizabeth’s attention first. They’re wide open, the pupils dilated enough to preserve the illusion of fear. It’s like the poor woman is still scared, even in death. There are smears of dark makeup dried beneath her eyes, running down and disappearing at silvery duct tape that’s covering her mouth. Black writing marks the tape, the letters S and H scrawled in messy print over top of where her lips would be.

“Elizabeth?” the chief asks, voice low. “Can you do this?”

She blinks, dragging her eyes away from the victim to give him a curt nod. She retrieves her camera, looping the strap around her neck and getting to work. Her legs shake when she steps closer, focusing in on the stab wounds to the victim’s chest and abdomen. She’d been stabbed in the clothing she’s wearing, each puncture in the fabric decorated with tattered, bloody edges.

Her wrists and legs are bound with more duct tape and some sort of cordage. Elizabeth makes sure to do a thorough job, anxiety making her take triple shots in case any are out of focus. Her eyes are doing something strange, as if they don’t want to function properly. Her vision is blurry and distorted, like she’s looking through a fishbowl. It doesn’t help that the woman is familiar looking. She has no idea who the victim is, yet she bears a striking resemblance. They share the same eye color, a similar skin tone. Even the poor victim’s hair reminds Elizabeth of her own, where it’s not clotted with blood or dirt.

She’s nearly finished when she hears Landers approaching. He’s always brash and loud, and he doesn’t bother toning it down despite the reporters nearby. He stops near the chief and they confer. Elizabeth takes a few final shots, ensuring the bruising at the victim’s throat is visible from multiple angles.

“You find any ID or personal belongings dumped nearby?” the chief asks. Elizabeth spies on the men’s conversation.

“No,” Landers answers. “We’ll check missing persons in the area, see if something comes up.”

“You think SH could be her initials?” he asks curiously. “It’s gotta stand for something.”

Elizabeth steps back from the body, chills shooting down her arms. She feels faint suddenly, her hands shaking as she struggles to get the camera back in the bag. She gives the coroner a nod, indicating she is done. She’s never felt sick at a crime scene before, but something about the letters S and H is affecting her…

She’s halfway across the lot, tripping on a crumbling chunk of pavement when Flip stops her. She looks up with confusion at his concerned face.

“Are you alright? You look sick,” he says plainly.

Elizabeth’s eyes trail from his face back towards the lights that illuminate the victim. The coroner’s getting her into a body bag, and yet she can barely focus on what’s in front of her. All she can think of is S and H…

“Shh,” she says, realizing why the letters are so stuck into her brain. She can hear the voice of her prank caller, hushing her when she spoke too much.

Flip’s brow furrows with bewilderment. “What?”

It couldn’t be that. There was no way. And yet her palms are slick with sweat, her stomach twisting into knots of anxiety that are nearly painful. She shakes her head, clinging onto denial. There was no reason to think her creepy caller was connected to the victim. Their shared appearance could be a coincidence, the letters on the duct tape standing for something, anything else…

“I-I have to get these developed,” she says. “I’m fine, but-I need to go.”

Flip says something else, but she doesn’t hear him. Her heart is beating too loud, her ears buzzing. She tries to make it back to her car as quickly as possible, doing her best to conceal the complete panic she’s feeling. She starts up the engine, telling herself she’s drawing connections where there are none. Colorado Springs is a big area. It was only a matter of time before she had to photograph someone who looked similar to her.

But as she drives, she can’t help but imagine duct tape over her mouth. The feeling of struggling, bound and terrified, while a distorted voice silences her.

“Shh…” she whispers to herself.


	4. Chapter 4

Elizabeth develops the film as quickly as possible, trying to avoid looking directly at the images in the process. She leaves multiple copies with Ann for the chief and any detectives assigned to the case, saving her own set in a file folder in her desk.

She thinks Ann notices that she’s shaken up. Elizabeth tries to assure the other woman she is fine, but it’s a bluff. She’s on edge, and she just wants to get home. Every little noise in the building has made her jump. When she finally leaves, it’s going on nine o’clock. She walks quickly across the parking lot, her keys held in a tense grip.

There are more cars in the lot than usual, including several with people waiting in them. News reporters, if she had to guess. Hoping to corner an officer and get some shred of information. They ignore her, to her relief. They probably assume she is just a secretary, a woman to answer the phone and keep the coffee pot filled.

She shoves the lock back down on her car door as soon as it’s closed. Then she starts the car, beginning her drive home. She turns the radio on, hoping to distract herself.

> _Wash away my troubles..._ _Wash away my pain..._ _With the rain in Shambala_
> 
> _Wash away my sorrow..._ _Wash away my shame..._ _With the rain in Shambala_

The music’s barely started, but she quickly turns it back off. They only get a few radio stations in Colorado Springs, the mountains causing too much interference for any stations to the west. All of them seem to be playing the same few songs lately. Not that she usually minded, they are catchy songs. But something about that one is just too upbeat, too happy for her current mood.

Elizabeth listens instead to the rumbling of her tires on the pavement. The roads get darker the further she gets from downtown, Pike’s peak rising up in her rearview mirror. As she drives, she continues to try to calm herself down.

There’s no reason to think her prank caller is anything but a bored, pathetic creep. He probably doesn’t even know what she looks like, and her resemblance to that poor girl a coincidence. She’ll call the phone company in the morning to get a new number or line, whatever they had to do.

She pulls into her apartment complex, irritated to find all of the spots in front of her unit taken. Her neighbor a few doors down frequently had parties on random nights. The visitors took up all the close parking, leaving Elizabeth stuck parking around the building and walking.

When she gets inside, she fixes the deadbolt and chain on her door. It’s cold inside, and she cranks up the heater in a futile attempt to warm the place. Elizabeth turns most of the lights on, before deciding to unplug her phone for the night. She doesn’t need anything else to spook her, so the mystery caller will have to find someone else to torment.

**Later**

Elizabeth is just starting to fall asleep when she hears something like a distant banging noise. She sits upright, her mind immediately shaking itself awake. She’d left the lights on, and she doesn’t see anything out of place.

The sound comes again. Now that she is more awake, she recognizes it as knocking. Elizabeth throws off the covers, hurrying down the hallway. The clock shows eleven, making her perplexed as to who would be knocking at her door so late. She never really had people over, and no family in town.

She peeks through the peephole, stunned momentarily at the sight of Flip Zimmerman on her stoop. What is he doing at her apartment? 

She scrambles to unlock the door, pulling it open. “Flip?”

“Hey, Liz,” he greets, sounding relieved. But then his glance drops downwards, taking in her pajamas. Her face grows hot when she realizes she hadn’t even bothered putting a robe on. The cold air slips through the open door, making her shiver immediately.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he rushes to apologize. “I didn’t mean to wake you. Your lights were on, so I figured-”

“No, it’s fine! Really, I um, I just forgot to turn them off,” she tries to explain, stepping back. “Um, did you want to-?”

She gestures awkwardly, towards her living room. Thankfully, Flip gets the idea and enters so she can stop stuttering and shut the door. She crosses her arms over her chest, painfully aware of the lack of bra under her shirt. Flip rakes a hand through his hair, giving her an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry to just show up like this,” he says. “I tried calling, but your phone isn’t working.”

She winces. “I um…I unplugged it,” Elizabeth admits. “I’ve been getting prank calls and I didn’t want to deal with it tonight.”

His brow furrows with concern. “How long has that been going on?”

“It’s-it’s nothing,” she says, not wanting to get into that now. “Did you need something? Were the pictures okay?”

“They’re fine,” Flip assures her. “I wanted to check on you, and I guess I got a little worried when your phoneline was dead.”

“Check on me?” she repeats, confused.

“You looked off earlier,” he points out. “Like you were about to pass out. Ann mentioned you seemed really upset when I asked her for your home number…”

“Oh,” Elizabeth mumbles, her embarrassment only growing. “I’m fine.”

She has to look away from his gaze, which turns skeptical at her false tone. She was never a talented liar, and it is apparent Flip sees right through her.

“Are you sure?” he presses gently. “No one would hold it against you, if seeing that earlier tonight bothered you…”

She dares to glance up at him, giving him a hesitant grin that she hopes is reassuring. But the way he’s looking at her makes her so nervous. There’s a softness in his eyes, concern apparent in his expression. Did he really drive all the way out to her home because he was worried for her? She swallows against the butterflies in her stomach.

“I’m okay,” she insists. “Or I’ll be okay. Thank you for checking though, that was sweet of you.”

The blush returns to her when she realizes what has tumbled from her lips. This always seems to happen around a guy she likes, the loss of a filter. Elizabeth is worried she’ll manage to say something wrong and embarrass herself more than she already has. She messes with her hair to try to distract herself from blabbering on, only to realize she’s got a case of bedhead from her pillow.

“Of course,” Flip says easily, seeming to overlook her awkwardness. “I’ll let you get back to bed, though.”

She nods. “Right. Uh, goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight-Oh! Before I forget.” He stops himself, turning back from the door he’d been about to reach for. “Your screen is damaged.”

“Huh?” Elizabeth asks, confused.

He points over at her living room window. “Your front screen? It needs replaced, figured I’d mention it in case you didn’t notice.”

She frowns, walking over to the curtains to pull them back. It’s hard to see with the glare of her lights on the dark window, but she spots what he’s talking about. There’s a long, horizontal slash along the screen. Most of it is hanging down in a sagging flap, useless. She hadn’t even looked at the window when she got home.

“What the…” she mutters under her breath.

“Looks like someone got it with a weedwhacker,” Flip suggests. “Just make sure your window’s locked til they get around to fixing it.”

“Right,” she agrees, letting the curtains swing closed.

He opens the door, pausing before he steps out. “Sleep tight, and don’t let the bugs bite,” he says, giving her a self-deprecating grin at the corny phrase.

Elizabeth can’t help but smile back. He’s cute. Massive enough to block her whole doorway, and a strange mix of flannel and cowboy boots…but somehow, also charmingly cute. She tries to memorize the sight of him there, in her apartment late at night.

“Night, Flip,” she says softly. He gives her a nod, and she waits to hear the door click closed before walking over to lock it.

She’s about to go back to bed, despite feeling shaky with excited nerves over his surprise visit. He must like her to go through all that trouble to check on her, right? It’s improved her mood, chasing away the uneasiness. But she decides to pull the curtains back again just to double check the lock on the window. Elizabeth frowns when she realizes the latch isn’t fixed.

She must have forgotten to lock it the last time she had the window open. She locks it now, checking the rest of the windows in the apartment. They’re all secure. Returning to her bed, she wiggles down under the blankets for warmth. It takes a long time for her brain to settle again, before sleep can return.

**Days Later-Afternoon**

Elizabeth hangs up with the phone company, groaning with frustration. They’ll have to run a new line into her unit to change her number, and the apartment office is not exactly cooperating with the request. She hasn’t gotten any more calls, however. Perhaps the guy has given up and is going to leave her alone.

She’s about to leave her work area to do some tidying in the filing room, when Landers bashes through the door. He slaps a stack of reports down on top of her desk, nearly toppling her cup of coffee in the process.

“I need copies of each one of those reports, enough for every man in the precinct,” he demands. “Don’t fuck around and take forever, either.”

“Of course,” she grinds out. “I’ll get right on it.”

He narrows his eyes, glaring at her until she stands up and grabs the documents. She gives his retreating back a dirty look as he stomps back out of the office. Was Landers so stupid that he didn’t know how a copy machine worked? The receptionist must either be busy, or he just wanted to throw work at Elizabeth rather than ask her.

She takes the reports into the filing room, turning on the copier. It takes a while to get going, making a whole series of strange noises as it warms up. While she waits, she fantasizes about slapping the overgrown mustache right off Landers’ face.

When the machine is finally ready, she gets to work on making the copies. It’s time consuming, and it’s not a top-of-the-line machine. She would almost rather use the old Reflex machine over this one. Elizabeth snoops on the originals, realizing one of the documents Landers handed her is the autopsy report.

The case hasn’t advanced much on the murder victim, from what she’s been hearing around the department. There are no missing person reports matching the woman’s description, and they haven’t turned up any clues to her identity. The autopsy refers to her only as Jane Doe for a name. Her age is listed as mid-twenties, no noted health conditions upon examination. She’d been a healthy young woman prior to her untimely death.

She flips through it with a morbid curiosity. The cause of death listed is strangulation, but that’s not the most interesting part of the report. The stab wounds to the victim’s chest and abdomen were inflicted post-mortem.

Why stab her after she is already dead? Elizabeth furrows her brow, reading on. The murderer had driven the knife into her over twenty times, up to the handle as indicated by markings around the wounds. Such overkill makes her wonder if the killer was angry, and taking it out on his dead victim’s body. But angry about what?

She scans the rest of the report. There are no other post-mortem injuries, but there was a blow to the head noted. The victim was suffering from a concussion, having been struck with something heavy and blunt on the back portion of her skull. The report notes no signs of sexual assault, which is contrary to what she’d been expecting.

Elizabeth is lost in thought, and she finishes the copies absentmindedly. The killer hadn’t assaulted her, which meant he wanted something else from her… If his motives weren’t sexual, what else could explain it? Robbery? Revenge? Or the most sinister of all…Perhaps all he wanted was to kill her. That explanation makes the least sense, though. If his only goal was to kill, wouldn’t he have been satiated after she was dead? Why was he still raging enough to stab her over and over?

She pulls herself from her thoughts to double check her work, making sure each copy looks complete before picking up the heavy stack of paper and originals. When she heads next door to the station, they’re in the middle of some kind of meeting. The officers are gathered around, focused on their chief. Several of her pictures of the crime scene are enlarged, tacked up to the board at the front of the room.

She tries to sneak in as silently as possible, but Landers’ eyes catch her immediately. He strides over, snapping impatiently at the documents in her grip. Elizabeth surrenders them, ignoring the nasty look he gives her before he starts circulating the room to hand them out.

Drifting backwards, Elizabeth tucks herself behind a pillar so she’ll be almost completely out of sight. It’s clear they’re going over what they have on the case so far, and she’s too curious to walk out the door. While she wasn’t technically prohibited from any of the material being shared, she knows the chief would be more than disapproving of her spying.

“Our working theory is this crime was done by someone the vic knew,” one of the detectives shares. “Maybe a pissed off ex-boyfriend or husband. Could explain why no one’s reported her missing, and how brutal the killing was. This was personal.”

Elizabeth frowns immediately, disagreeing. She’d never speak up to say that, of course. But why would a boyfriend or husband need to strike the woman on the back of the head, if he intended to strangle or stab her to death?

If the killer was someone she knew, he’d be able to get close enough and get her somewhere private for the murder. Elizabeth thinks it makes more sense that the blow on the head indicates a surprise attack. Someone who needed to incapacitate her, quickly.

“We’ve got feelers out to surrounding precincts,” the chief contributes. “Someone’s eventually going to notice this girl is gone.”

Flip speaks up from where he’s leaned back at his desk. “Remember, if you’re working the location the body was found, pay attention to who you see around. Our guy might come back to where he dumped her.”

One of the beat cops gestures as if he has a question. Flip’s oblivious, having returned his attention to his coffee. The chief nods to acknowledge the officer.

“What about people talking to reporters? We’ve got that old homeless guy yapping to anyone that will give him an ear,” he complains.

The first detective speaks up with a groan. “That fucker is crazier than a shithouse rat,” he snaps. “He’s given four different vehicle descriptions already for a car he supposedly saw parked in the lot that day.”

“I promise you she wasn’t killed there,” Flip replies. “Which means whoever did it had means to transport her body. Homeless guy who sleeps under the bridge isn’t a suspect.”

“Crazies crawl out of the woodwork during cases like this. Ignore him,” the chief interjects. “What else we got?”

Elizabeth spies a little longer, disappointed to hear they aren’t getting a lot to move on. The material used to bind her limbs was fairly common, stuff that could have been picked up at any hardware store. She also overhears that they still have no theories on what the letters written on the duct tape could stand for.

She sneaks back out of the door when they devolve into their own smaller conversations, making her way to the adjacent building. Maybe her own hunches are wrong. The detectives have good reason to think it could’ve been a boyfriend or husband. When a woman turned up dead, nine times out of ten it was a man in her life who was to blame.

The part that’s hanging her up is the rage, clear in the bruising and wounds that littered the victim’s body. What if killing her, stabbing her, dumping her body… what if that didn’t resolve the murderer’s anger? What if he’s still out there, his fury building back up?

_Why did you do that, Elizabeth?_


End file.
